Sacrificial Instinct
by BloodStainsOnMyKisses
Summary: Following the murder of Arkadia's king, trained assassin of the throne Bellamy Blake is enlisted to protect the life of the newly ascended queen. Bellarke Royalty AU.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**.

The king of Arkadia was shot in the head early in the morning on a Sunday.

The assassination came thirty minutes after the public announcement of their newly contracted alliance with Lurrea. More commonly, the people of Arkadia preferred to refer their neighbouring nation simply with the derogatory term, the _Grounders_.

King Jacob was found by Queen Abigail as she made her way to the kitchens to set the menu for the feast that night. She had stopped by the library, and was confronted with a dried pool of her husband's blood.

The security was increased within the hour. Most importantly, the security around the queen and her daughter, the princess Gwendoline Amelia — better known as Clarke to the people. Each were assigned their own security detail, which rotated throughout the day to ensure that each royal had 24-hour security.

The day of Princess Clarke's ascension to Queen was hidden from the public, for the first time in the history of Arkadia's monarchy.

It was also the day she met her Head of Security. Because she was now the sole heir to the throne, and thus the most vital accessory to the kingdom's survival, he had been assigned as her personal guard. His name was Bellamy Blake.

Trained in all arts of defence and offence, Blake was the most skilled fighter in the kingdom. He had served under the king himself, when he had been alive, and had successfully halted many assassination attempts on the royal family. Some, they still weren't aware of.

But the man was no bodyguard. He was no cadet. His title did not fit into the castle's hierarchy. An assassin, and a ruthless one. Often called upon to stealthily eliminate the king's problems. Yet, Blake had been a close friend of the King's. For this reason, he swore at the feet of his new queen and in front of her court that he would protect her with his life.


	2. Episode 1

Episode 1

* * *

The queen was in the midst of preparing herself to address the country. Her maid tended to her hair as she sat at her vanity, staring at herself as jewels were laid on her, pins were stuck in her, and powder applied.

Clarke had been the leader of the kingdom for only three months, ruling with the aid of the Queen Mother and the keeper of her country's seal, Lord Kane. They were the only subjects in her court whom she trusted.

She was escorted everywhere by her security detail, including the likes of seasoned soldiers, trained castle guards, and her late father's personal killer. Her security was switched up every few hours to keep only the most active guards in her presence, but she came to notice that the assassin was always by her side. Especially during highly risky public events, like the one she was to encounter soon.

"All done, Your Majesty," her maid said from behind her. Clarke examined the look in the mirror, turning her head to either side for a full scope of her appearance.

Her long hair was pulled back, with only strands framing her face. The curls bounced with every movement. A braided chignon held her hair back, loose and comfortable; still elegant.

"Thank you," the queen dismissed her. Standing, Clarke moved to the large bed in the centre of her dressing chambers. On the soft duvet lay a glimmering gown that took up the entire space. The castle was still mourning, so her mother had ordered for her to be fitted in a dark-coloured dress, if not black. It was an elegant dress, the darkest of greens, with a trumpet skirt of velvet. Jewels embellished its front and the hem, weighing down the fabric.

The queen removed her shift and allowed her handmaiden to wrap a corset around her naked torso. Clarke held on to the bedpost as the girl pulled at the contraption's strings and tightened it until she could just barely breathe. She thanked the gods that she had already eaten, because there was no way she could consume anything with it on.

With the help of two maids, Clarke slipped into the dress, revelling how the heavy gems shined with her every movement. One of the servants began pining the cloth together, preparing the seams in order to sew the young queen into the gown. As it was being done, the queen held on to one of the maid's hands as she slipped into matching velvet heels.

A tall crown made of diamond and platinum was placed on her golden hair. It was an appropriate accessory for the occasion; today marked the day of Clarke's official public debut as Queen of Arkadia.

When she was fully dressed, she nodded to her handmaiden, Gina, who opened the doors to the rest of the castle. Standing on the opposite side of the doors was her primary guard, waiting patiently for her. He held his arm out to her, preparing to lead her to the throne room.

"Blake," she curtly acknowledged.

"Your Majesty," he replied, clearly mocking her. She didn't doubt it. She took his elbow in her hand and allowed him to steer her in the right direction.

Queen Clarke was not an easy charge.

Following the assassination of her father, the young royal was quickly agitated, always cautious, and never silent. Blake had come to know her during all his meetings with her father, when he and the king would fall silent as soon as his young daughter stepped into their conferences. She'd have her words with her father, shoot Blake a wary glance, and leave. Before the king's demise, he had never spoken to her. Always stationed by the late Jake Griffin's side, he had come to see the stubborn, lively, fiery woman who was his queen.

At the entrance to the throne room, a hesitance in Clarke's steps forced Blake to halt his advance. The doormen looked to one another, unsure if they were supposed to open the grand doors or not.

Blake turned to the young woman beside him, silent. Her eyes were closed, her face wishful. Her breathing was calm, but her fingers were not. They drummed against his elbow.

"Your Majesty…" he began.

"Wait," she commanded, and he did.

Clarke took a long breath, muttered a soft prayer, and her eyes opened.

"Proceed," she allowed, and the bodyguard returned to escorting her into the throne room. The crier announced her presence.

The Queen Mother was already waiting, stationed on the second throne. As she saw her daughter enter, Abby, along with the rest of the court, were brought to their feet. They stood, only moving to bow to their queen as she passed them. Clarke only looked straight ahead, her eyes on her mother. The women acknowledged one another with a simple head bow. Blake lead Clarke to her throne, allowed her to sit, and then took his place beside her. He stood to the side, and slightly behind, the royal chair, staring down the court with a threatening hand over his gun.

Clarke faced Lord Kane and signalled for him to allow the first member of the court forward.

In her three months of leadership, Clarke had been set on a strict schedule. Once a month her subjects were allowed to come to the palace, addressing her directly for her aid in their situations. They began privately first, with her councilmen. This was her third time doing it, and she had still not managed to get the hang of it.

Her first subject bowed before her, explaining his wish to depart from court, because. Another stepped forward asking her for permission to marry and spend a few days off court responsibility. Subject after subject approached her with questions, problems, suggestions. By the end of three hours she was spent, and glad that there was only one subject left.

The Duke Thelonious stood before her, his son in tow. Both father and son began with a deep bow, and then their proposition. "Your Majesty," Thelonious's son addressed her, "I am Earl Wells of Jaha. I come to you today to ask your hand in marriage."

The court stopped. Heads turned to face Clarke, and hers turned to face her mother. The Queen Mother's eyes were wide, unsure of what to say. Seeing this reaction on her mother, Clarke turned back to the Duke and his son, and lightly smiled.

"Thank you, Your Grace, for the generous proposal." Clarke said to the pair. "My mother and I will discuss later it in further detail."

After the two bowed and departed, it was time for the royal family to be presented to the public. It was everything Clarke was dreading. The court slowly cleared out, leaving Clarke and Abby to themselves.

"Are you ready, Gwendoline?" Abby asked as she turned to her daughter. She reached out for her daughter's hand, and Clarke took it.

Abby stroked the girl's fingers in an effort to calm her down. It was evident from her face that she was near terrified. "I think I am, Mom."

Hearing this, Gina approached and helped her down the stairs. Blake was close behind, and extended his arm to her once more. Behind them, Abby was getting the same treatment with her maid Fox, and bodyguard Lincoln.

"I'll see you there, Gwendoline," Abby called. "And straighten your posture!"

Clarke scoffed as she followed the order of the Queen Mother.

Neither queen found it necessary to change, so both made their way to the high balcony of the castle. However, due to new security regulations, they were made to take different routes through the castle.

Blake turned to meet the gaze of the rest of Clarke's entourage, checking attendance. On either side of the two were Sirs Miller and Miller; father and son. Behind each were two others, the knight Sir Pike, and trainee Collins. Behind them, the final two, Bryan, and the only female guard the kingdom had ever seen, Reyes.

The sound of the cheering crowd grew louder as the group neared the end of the hallway. Blake felt his queen's fingers dig into his arm as they walked, getting tighter with every footfall.

Gina was waiting by the time they reached the entrance of the balcony.

The group paused in their advancement for Clarke's handmaiden to place a heavy cloak on her queen's shoulders, and fasten it in place by her throat. The young royal nodded in solemn thanks, and the group resumed. The doors were opened, and the roar became deafening.

The citizens of Arkadia had gathered at the front of the palace, dressed in their finest clothes. They all seemed eager to meet their new sovereign. Some had arrived at dawn that morning, as evident by the piles of rubbish that littered the royal garden.

The entourage paused at the door. The master of ceremony looked to them, bowed to the queen, and returned to silence the crowd. They only did so in anticipation. Then, in the loudest voice possible, he announced to the crowd: " _Her Majesty Gwendoline Amelia the second, Queen of Arkadia and of Her other Realms and Territories_."

The crowd roared again, seemingly louder than before. It signalled her cue; Clarke stepped onto the balcony, letting go of Blake's arm to face her people. The young bodyguard watched as her facial features relaxed to put on a confident mask. The fear seemed to melt away from her face as she gave a brightening smile and waved gently. Abby stood beside her, her hand on her daughter's back in support. She was shaking, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

The guards joined the royal family on the balcony, keeping a sharp look on the public. Each firmly held rifles, but kept them close to their legs to hide them from the public. Every waving flag, every article of tossed clothing, every shout; everything was perceived as a hazard.

Clarke herself was wary, trying to make sure her face didn't show that she was skeptical of every single one of her people. The only thing she could think of was how her father's killer could very well be staring at her at that very moment. It set her on edge, and she began to feel more breathless with every passing second.

She turned her head to her mother, covering her mouth and saying, "I want to go back, Mom." She had to repeat it once more, but once Abby understood, she shook her head. "Only a few more minutes, my dear. Just keep waving. You're doing great." With no further discussion, Abby turned back and continued waving to the crowd.

In the crowd, the citizens were beginning to push past each other to get closer. Many couldn't see from so far away, and were eager to get a glimpse. There was a lot of pushing, and in the area surrounding the garden's largest fountain, the shouts gradually became aggressive rather than gleeful.

The shooter took this chance to raise a gun to the royal balcony, knowing that no one would notice even if he did make the shot. It was too loud for anyone to really hear anything. The guards couldn't see anything; he was too small to them for anyone to realise what he was holding.

Clarke and Abby were still waving to the crowd, smiles plastered on their faces. Blake watched the both of them from the side of his eye as he adjusted the weapon in his hand. He would think of this moment later, and he would regret looking away from the crowd, even for that one second.

" _GUN_!" He heard Reyes yell. She took aim.

Reacting as fast as he knew how, Blake turned to the queen, wrapping one hand around her waist, and one behind her head to protect it as he pushed her down, away from the view of the crowd. They reached the ground with a hard thud, but the queen was safe. The crown on Clarke's head only a moment ago was on circling on itself mere centimetres away from her face.

There were loud gunshots that rang through the gardens. The hand that had been on her waist snapped upwards, until Blake's entire body had adjusted to put itself in between the balcony's wall and his charge.

"Don't move," Blake told her, and it was the most informal thing he had ever said to her. She noticed, but she didn't say anything. She was slightly dazed, and extremely dizzy, by their landing. Her head had slammed against her guard's hand, which had hit the concrete hard. The shock was still resonating through her skull.

Blake didn't let go of her, only peeking over the edge of the balcony to check on the shooter. He couldn't see much, other than the clearing people. "Miller!" He called, and the younger one crouched down to their level, holding a shield of metal up. This allowed Clarke to stand, and Miller escorted her back into the castle. She saw her mother out of harm's way, after Lincoln had moved just as quickly as Blake had.

Back on the balcony, Blake had picked his gun back up and aimed it at the crowd. Through its eyepiece, he tried to spy the shooter. He heard the doors shut behind him, but paid it no heed. Reyes, Collins, and Bryan were all stationed beside him.

"There!" Bryan yelled, and pointed to the telltale gleam of the weapon. The other three guards all followed his finger, and found the criminal. On the ground, he turned and ran. He was strategic, and was zipping in between the other citizens.

"Wait," Blake commanded. "Don't shoot unless you're absolutely sure you won't hit a civilian."

All the guns on the balcony followed the man, but soon he had disappeared into the masses.

" _Fuck_!" Reyes yelled.

* * *

The queen was in her mother's chambers when the news came.

It was Gina, who only entered when she heard the permission. "Ma'am," she started, like she didn't know how to present the information. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"Go ahead, dear," Abby prompted as the girl fell silent.

"Yes, Ma'am. Sir Miller the senior was shot and killed tonight, Ma'am."

"Oh," Abby muttered. It was heartbreaking news. She had known David Miller since she had joined the royal family. He had always been loyal and kind. "Does his son know?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Gina said, "He is with him in the medical ward right now."

"Thank you, Gina." Clarke spoke for the first time, "Let Sir Miller the junior know that we send our condolences. We will leave him to mourn tonight, and pay our respects tomorrow."

"Very good, Your Majesty."

"Is there anything else, Gina?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Very well. You may leave."

Gina curtsied, and backed out of the room.

Clarke turned back to her mother. She took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm herself from the incident still fresh in her mind.

Both royal ladies had been checked by the palace doctor. Clarke was cleared of a concussion, but her arms had been badly scratched by the balcony floor. Abby had a bad bruise on her thigh, but other than that, was fine. Neither had had time to change since, and Clarke felt the closet dig into her ribs.

"My love," the Queen Mother started, "I think you should get some rest. You'll have a lot to do tomorrow."

Clarke nodded, standing to make her departure. Reyes was waiting outside for her, and escorted her back to her chambers. She held her gun out for the entirety to the three minute walk.

The sovereign was holding her heels in her hand, walking across the palace's lush carpet barefoot. Without the extra height, the beautiful dress pooled against her ankles. Pins were falling out of her hair, and her crown was inappropriately dangling from around her arm.

Two new guards were stationed outside her bedroom, saluting as she neared. One opened the chambers' doors, allowing the queen to step through. Reyes bowed to Clarke, and then left. Her shift had been over hours ago.

Gina and two other maids were waiting inside, ready to get her ready for bed. She passed the crown to one of them, and she rushed to return it to its rightful place. Gina was allowed to turn the queen around and begin the lengthy process of undoing the stitches of the dress to set her free. After a couple of minutes, Clarke was beginning to get too restless.

"Just cut it," she snapped, but then realised herself. "Please. Just cut me out of this thing."

"Yes, Your Majesty. Give me a moment." The redhead sprinted to find a knife, and quickly returned. The soft velvet fabric fell to the ground in a heap around Clarke's ankles.

"Get this damned corset off," she breathed, clutching at it in an attempt to rip it off. Gina's nimble fingers unlaced the bodice and slipped it off the young woman. For the first time all day, Clarke felt like she was able to breathe. She sat at the bed, trying to stop herself from taking too-deep breaths.

Just as she was ready to put on a shift, there was a loud knock at the door.

"Sir Bellamy Blake to see the Queen."

"One moment!" Gina called, and both women stumbled to make Clarke decent. She wore her shift and her robe before she allowed the doors to open. Clarke dismissed the other servants, letting them go to bed.

Blake remained in his deep bow until all three of the ladies were out of the room.

"Have a seat, Blake." Clarke gestured to the seat of her study, and she sat at her vanity. She began removing the pins in her hair delicately as she waited for the guard to begin speaking.

"My Queen," he nodded, and took his seat after her. "Have you been informed of Sir Miller?"

"Yes, I have. It's quite tragic, and I'm quite remorseful, if I may be honest."

"It is quite so, Your Majesty."

"Tell me; what brings you here tonight?" She didn't look at him, even as all her pins were out. She put her fingers in her hair and combed it out coarsely.

"I came to check up on you."

"Oh?"

"Yes, My Queen."

"Well, I'm quite alright, Blake, thanks to you."

"Good to hear, Ma'am."

"Don't call me that."

"Very well, My Queen."

"Tell me," Clarke spoke, her voice lowered. "What happened with the shooter?"

Blake was silent for a long while, unsure of how to tell his sovereign that he had failed at his job.

"Well?" the queen pressed.

"He managed to slip away."

Clarke whipped around to face him. Her nails dug into her palms as she stared at him. " _Come again?_ " Her cold blue eyes bore into his, full of rage.

"We couldn't catch him."

"And where is he now?"

"I don't know, Majesty."

Clarke tried to suppress her sigh, but found herself both too angry and too worried to do so.

"Do we know who he was trying to target?"

"The Queen Mother, Your Majesty. The trajectory was calculated soon after the attack."

Unable to sit still with her unease, Clarke stood and began to pace in the space between her bed and her vanity. As soon as she stood, Blake shot to his feet.

"My Queen —"

" _Shut up_." She snapped, and he did. "Find me this shooter. I will take no excuses. This man tried to kill my mother. He may be the same person who murdered my father. He will see no mercy. Not from me."

Blake only bowed his head in agreement.

"Will there be anything else?"

He shook his head.

"Alright, you're dismissed."

The assassin turned to leave. He was at the door, about to reach the door handle when he heard her speak again.

"Blake," she called, and he turned. "Thank you. For keeping me alive."

He turned to her fully and gave her another deep bow. "It is my duty, Your Majesty."


	3. Episode 2

**Episode 2**

* * *

The intruder would have been seen by the castle guards had it been for two conditions: they were following their security schedule, and they weren't asleep while doing it. Fortunately for the intruder, the castle's security level hadn't really been worked on as much as it should have since the assassination of King Jacob.

So the intruder roamed the castle's free halls, taking time to examine each painting of the royal families throughout the ages. The faces of each royal was eye-catching, beautiful, and graceful, but most of all the current queen.

The painting that the intruder stopped in front of was newly painted. It had been only a few months, when the king had still been alive. The eyes of Queen Gwendoline were breathtakingly blue, and the intruder stared through them for a long time, before venturing into the garden.

Whoever it was clearly knew their way around the castle, because soon, he had a view of the queen's bedroom window. The balcony outside had its own two guards, awake and sharp — but the intruder remained unseen from behind the tall bushes. Eyes followed the monarch as she was awoken by her handmaiden, and escorted into the bathhouse to begin preparing for the day.

A dangerous smile was settled on the intruder's face.

* * *

Clarke slipped into her drawn bath, trying to let her mind roam as her maids began to scrub at her skin.

The sun had not yet risen, and the queen was a few minutes away from drifting to sleep in her tub. She was preparing to make her first appearance in court after the shooting and murder of Sir Miller. It had been three days, and the castle was finally preparing to bury the deceased knight.

Gina was at Clarke's side, scrubbing under her nails with a brittle brush. She was making light conversation with the queen as the other servants worked on shampooing the queen's hair, massaging her skin, and shaving her limbs.

Gina Martin had always been Clarke's closest confidant, especially throughout their childhood. Gina was born in the castle, as daughter of Abby's lady's maid. She had grown alongside Clarke, and when the castle authorities had deemed her a legal adult, she had been given a job in the kitchens. When the head cook had complained about her absolute uselessness in the kitchen, a thirteen-year-old Princess Clarke had suggested a career as a handmaiden. The two had never been apart in the ten years since.

Now, the friends were conversing about Clarke's potential husband in the Duke's son, but it was clear that the young queen wanted to stray as far away from the topic as possible.

"So, Gina." She started, opening her eyes to cheekily look at her close friend, "Have you made any new acquaintances recently?"

The young woman's cheeks reddened, and she bowed her head to restrict Clarke from seeing. The effort was futile; she said, "Not really, My Queen," and blushed harder.

Clarke pulled her fingers away from Gina's grasp, teasing her. "You have to tell me now. I'm too interested."

The large smile on Gina's face was a telltale sign, even as she said the words, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The other maids seemed to be listening intently to the conversation. Clarke noticed and lowered her voice, so only her friend could hear, "It's someone from the royal guard, I bet." When Gina remained silent, Clarke had her answer. "Is it Collins?"

The handmaiden shook her head, reaching to grasp her charge's fingers again. She began applying nail polish as the monarch listed any names she could remember from her and her mother's guards.

"Lincoln? Miller? Bryan?"

Gina tried to hide her grin, but she couldn't, and allowed herself to fall into the game. "No."

"Murphy? Emerson? Am I close?"

"No."

"Is it Reyes?"

Gina giggled. "No."

Because she was held at such a high status in the country, Clarke hadn't been allowed to date until she was seventeen. In the six years since, she still hadn't taken any lovers — men were often too intimidated of her status. She had always found herself lonely and deprived because of it, and usually found herself leeching off of Gina's love life.

Clarke threw her one free hand into the air, exasperated. "I don't remember any more names!"

"There's Blake, Your Majesty."

"Oh! Of course." Clarke did a double take, but then her grin grew as she saw her friend's face. "I had no idea you were into assholes, Gina."

At the rare instance of the queen's foul language, Gina's mouth fell open. A laugh fell out, and she playfully slapped at the tub's rim. "Is that any way for the Queen of Arkadia to speak?"

When the two girls had settled down in their laughter, Clarke pushed. "Have you two even been properly introduced?"

The nail polish was drying, and Clarke regained her hand to fan the air. Gina closed the polish bottle, getting up to prepare a towel. "Not really, no."

"Well then," the royal replied. "We must see to that soon — Help me up?"

* * *

The queen was dressed in an elegant gown of taffeta, black and blue to symbolise both the castle's mourning and pride for Sir Miller. The wiggle skirt was hidden under the thick overskirt, draping to create a long tail. Appliqué embellished her sweetheart neckline, silver and shining. She wore no crown to represent her mourning state.

That morning, her security detail consisted of Emerson, Atom, Collins, Connor, and at their head, Blake. A side glance to Gina told Clarke that their prior conversation had been true; she had developed quite the crush.

Blake didn't notice. He held his arm out to the queen, stoic as ever. A face of stone refused to portray any emotion. Ever since Clarke's first brush with assassination, he had ordered an increase of public security. He had been overlooking every detail; most of meetings took place at night, and he wasn't getting much sleep. He spent every hour of the day at the queen's side, and every hour of the night with the personnel. He had been training personally-chosen guards, instructing the royal engineers Sinclair and Wick, and orchestrating missions for the royal spies.

The work showed on his face, with his dark circles. Clarke noticed, but knew not to ask.

The queen had always been more observative than anyone had ever given her credit for. The misunderstanding was her own fault; as a child she had never given anyone the ability to truly comprehend her intellect. She found it beneficial to keep her smarts to herself. It usually lead to subjects revealing things before her, while she maintained a pretence of ignorance.

Today she noticed Blake's faltered steps. The slight haywire-feature of his usually well-combed hair. The sickly feature to his face. She mentioned none of it, and simply took his elbow. The thin material of his white tunic allowed for her to feel the toned muscle of his arm. She had seen his arms bare in the past. when he had been training new soldiers the day after her father had died. She had barged into the guards' gym in an attempt to find him. She had seen his scarred flesh, with marred tissue trailing his tan arms through to the back of his shirt. This also could be felt from below the shirt.

"Lead the way, Blake."

"Of course, My Queen."

Sir Miller the senior was buried in the Knights' Yard, with the rest of those who gave their life for their monarchs.

The remaining Miller was allowed time off-service for one week. He looked grateful as Clarke told him, with red-rimmed eyes and dark circles. His family had been granted a temporary leave for bereavement, and had only returned to the castle to take their places as the coffin's pallbearers, along with David Miller's old knight acquaintances. All of their faces were grim, all of their clothes black. The castle's minister performed the service. Both queens sat in the front, paying their highest respect to the fallen soldier. Lincoln and Blake stood, alert, on either side of the benches.

After the ceremony, all is as nothing happened.

She had Blake lead her to the court, where she was aware she had an awaiting audience. She took his arm again, and he had lead the way.

Only the closest of Clarke's subjects was aware of this tactic: the queen was always required to venture the castle grounds with an escort — usually Blake — in order to obstruct the knife she carried within her skirt. The act also allowed any of her bodyguards to move a deal quicker in the incident of an attack, wielding the ability to hastily push her to the nearest hidden passageway if need be. Clarke hated it.

"Her Majesty Gwendoline Amelia the second, Queen of Arkadia and of Her other Realms and Territories," she was announced.

When she entered her court, she was met with the expecting eyes of her country's noblemen. The families Green, Kane, Jordan, McIntyre, Monroe, and Pike lined the court's walls, seated in their respective houses.

At the very front stood the Jaha family, bowing at the empty throne. They did not look up until Clarke had sat.

Today was the day she was expected to answer the Jaha proposal.

Both Clarke and Abby had found it inappropriate to conduct such a meeting on the same day of their knight's funeral, but Kane had insisted that they couldn't possibly keep the duke waiting for more than the three days they had already made them.

The entirety of the board of royal advisors had been talking of nothing more than the queen's engagement since the day her father had died. Clarke had received many proposals since, and they had all been turned down for a lack of benefit.

However, Clarke had been surprised that morning when Kane had visited her that morning, with the well-thought decision for her to accept Wells Jaha's hand in marriage. She had been thinking of the decision since, and as she sat in front of the young man, she finally chose her path.

* * *

In the opposite side of the castle, the intruder was still lurking.

He found that he quite enjoyed the freedom and peace of walking through the empty halls. It was the most silent environment he had been in all week. He had been up all night, fully getting to know the place. He had toured the Arkadia palace through the hours, and had finally found the room he had been looking for.

He entered the room after easily picking the lock. And then, all there was left to do was wait.

* * *

When Clarke got back to the master chambers, she quickly dismissed all the maids waiting to help her out of her gown. They were confused at first, but with a sharp look from Gina, they scuttled out in single file. Gina herself left close behind, unsure of how else to comfort the queen.

As she watched the door finally shut, she allowed herself to fall apart.

She flung herself onto her newly made bed, grasping the closest pillow to her face. Her makeup stained the silk cream sheets as she began to sob.

Shortly after publicly accepting Earl of Jaha's proposal, she could only think of her father. The king had always talked about the day he would have to walk his daughter down the aisle, and how he had dreaded the day it would happen. Now, with him gone, Clarke would dread having to walk down the aisle without him, regardless of how diplomatic her marriage would be. Everyone in court was well aware that the marriage would only be taking place due to the mutual benefit of the union.

Outside, Collins stood guard with Murphy. Gina was on standby close by. None of them would say a word about it later, but they could all hear their reigning monarch's sobs through the door.

Blake had retired for the few hours that the queen was expected to remain in her bedroom. As he closed the heavy door behind him, he sighed. He took his shirt off in one fluid movement, letting it fall to the floor.

Contrary to everyone else at court, Blake had always been able to identify his monarch's observations. With the sharp eye of an assassin, he always noticed Clarke's darting eyes, soaking in information with every passing breath. He had been acquainted with her since she was a child and he was a teen; his opinion on her intellect had never changed in the years since.

The only issue he had with her skill was her potential to see through him. While he had never let her past his thick emotional exterior, he had no doubt in his mind that she definitely had the ability to. He was also sure she had noticed the bandages that he had wrapped around his arms the night prior. As she had clutched his arm that morning, he knew he felt it. She had side-glared toward it, yet he was unsure if she fully comprehended its purpose.

That previous night, he had taken it upon himself to address Her Majesty's command to find the shooter that had been eager to assassinate the Queen Mother. He had found himself in a battle of swords close to the rise of the sun, after following a short trail of leads. It had been a dead end immediately after, and he had returned to the castle with cuts gracing his extremities. He had quickly bandaged himself up before escorting the queen to his friend's father's funeral.

This was the first chance at rest he had gotten since two nights prior. He let himself fall to his small wooden bed, and before he knew it, had drifted off to sleep.

Just as he was barely awake, the intruder made his move.

* * *

When Gina returned to the queen's room, she found Clarke waiting at the vanity.

She was due for another public appearance; a car ride throughout the kingdom beside Wells. An engagement announcement for the people.

But Clarke was far from celebrating. Her makeup was smudge down her cheeks, and her hair was a knotted mess. She looked up at Gina with red-rimmed eyes.

"Oh, Clarke." Gina dropped the new dress on the queen's bed, moving to wrap her arms around her. The young royal started sobbing again, into the crevice of Gina's arm. They remained like so for many long minutes, until Clarke had stopped shaking.

"Are you okay now?"

"I don't know — I may never be."

"My Queen," Gina reverted to calling Clarke by her royal title. "Why did you agree to marrying this earl?"

Clarke sniffed, shaking her head. "It's a good political move," she whispered.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Without another word, Clarke left Gina's arms to wipe away her tears. The streaks of black were swiped away into her hairline. She shook her head at the proposed question. "I made my choice. We need to get me ready."

The handmaiden straightened. "Yes, My Queen." The other servants were called into the chamber, and they set to work immediately.

By the end of the hour, the queen had been stripped of her funeral clothes, wiped of her makeup, and dressed in new attire. Clarke sat at the vanity emotionlessly, watching as her maids layered her makeup on her. Pale foundation, light powder, and dark red lipstick. The shade had been made to perfectly match the colour of her dress.

She slipped into her corset, soundlessly bearing through the pain of having it tightened. She had been trying to avoid making eye contact with the dress, that had been so delicately laid on her bed, but it was time to put it on.

A dark red at the top and bottom hems. An over-the-shoulder sweetheart neckline. A full skirt of orange and red, encapsulating the image of flame. Red gem earrings, and a diamond engagement ring delivered by the Jahas.

She met Wells at the bottom of the hall's staircase. He was waiting expectantly with an elbow ready for her to grasp. She glided effortlessly towards it, and he lead her to the waiting car outside.

Her bodyguards followed them closely, with two of them in the same car as the couple. Clarke looked behind her, fitting names to faces.

She turned to Gina beside her. "Where's Blake?"

* * *

The intruder watched through a window as Clarke's eyes darted around the courtyard. He smiled and looked down at his bloody hands. Unbeknownst to the royals below, he waved through the window as the kingdom's monarch drove away from the front of the castle doors without their head of security.

* * *

 **To anyone who may be interested: check out the dress designs for every chapter on deviantart. (remove spaces)**

bloodstainsonmykisse. deviantart gallery/?catpath=scraps


	4. Episode 3

As the royal vehicle accelerated through the castle's boundaries, Clarke's heart began to pound. Thinking about the welfare and safety of her kingdom, she stares at her people as she drove past them, wondering if any of them could possibly be planning her assassination.

Every face she passed was a suspicious one; every innocent bystander guilty. Beside her, Wells remained clueless to her unease. Little did he know that the woman he was betrothed to was wondering if her corset was thick enough to deflect a bullet.

It was only her second public appearance since the death of her father, and the young queen was surprised to know that she found herself largely uncomfortable without the reassuring presence of the royal assassin. In her short months as the reigning monarch, she had become much too accustomed to him, despite her belief that her position did not allow her to be entitled to such dependency. But it had been thirty minutes into the tour, and the only thought on Clarke's mind was Blake's absence from by her side.

Despite her paranoia, the queen did her duty of maintaining her celebratory aura, often waving to Arkadia's citizens to efficiently seal the facade. The public cheered her presence and news with red roses, thrown into the car at any given chance. Despite the civilians' welcoming embrace, Clarke found herself flinching every time a villager came too close, or shaking with fear every time she heard an abnormal sound — which might as well have been barrels rolling away in the distance.

By the end of the three-hour tour, she was clutching the weapon concealed within her dress, until her fingers had grown as red as the fabric. Her heart still pounded against her ribcage mercilessly, even as she was driven into the safety of the garage. Without speaking a word to the man she was promised to, she climbed out of the vehicle and stomped into the castle.

Blake was nowhere to be seen, even after an extensive search of the palace. When the news was brought to Clarke, she had just sat down at her vanity, and hadn't found the time to remove her jewels yet. She had had an exhausting conversation with her advisors, and she was in no mood for another problem. She decided to find him herself.

"Bring me a robe," she ordered. One was placed over her bare shoulders, and she slipped her arms into the sleeves. She stood, and the hem of the garment failed to reach the marble floors, due to the queen's thick skirts. The dress she wore beneath trailed behind her, floating off the ground as she marched off into the guards' quarters, entourage in tow.

As a young princess, she and her governess would spend many hours together. Whenever her parents weren't aware, the two would often sneak into the high servants' quarters, to sneak Clarke some sweets. They made it a weekly affair for many years before the governess passed of sickness. As a result, Clarke was very familiar with the quarters, even as an adult. She wasted no time in finding the the door labeled Sergeant Blake.

"Did anyone think to check his quarters?" Clarke called as she raised a clenched fist to the door.

"Yes, Ma'am. We knocked, but there was no answer."

Clarke glared at the man who had answered her, deeming the efforts not large enough. Her knock was heard down the hallway, sharp and distinct.

"Blake!" she yelled into the wood. There was no answer to either tactic.

"Do we have a key for this room?"

"No, Majesty. Your father ordered Blake be left to his own devices, and had all copies of his room key melted down for coins."

Clarke pondered the logic of such an action. "I understand. Find me a guard who can bypass the lock."

"My Queen, he's a superior officer—"

"And as the ultimate superior, and ruler of this nation, you will do as I ask."

Clutching his hat to his chest, the soldier braced himself to pick the lock, well aware of the consequences he might have to bear if Blake ever found out. As the key dropped, Clarke stepped forward and theist open the door. The wood made a loud thwack as it was thrown inwards, splintered by the blunt force.

"Dismissed." A curt command from a curt ruler. The group watched him leave, and then replaced their attention to the inside of Blake's chambers. There was a thin trail of red that ran through the room, leading to a final red pool by the side of the bodyguard's bed.

Her heart leaping in her chest, Clarke's head barely tilted towards her security team behind her.

"Reyes, search the room."

"Ma'am."

If Clarke had been expecting a large range of weaponry to parallel Blake's profession, she was sorely disappointed. The walls were as bare as his expression, with no decor to indicate life. A simple bed, chest, and furniture hid in the far corner, and that was all the eye could see. The bedding was a mess, swallowing the body Clarke could only assume was Blake's.

"Clear," Reyes called to her, and Clarke took her first step into the chamber. She stormed up to the bed, and she had her first look at the royal guard's face. The colour was drained from his face.

The queen pressed two fingers to Blake's neck, searching for a pulse. It was strong.

"Blake!" Clarke rapped on his bedpost with a knuckle, hoping to wake him up. When he opened his eyes, he could only see her, and the heavy jewels swinging close to his face. Her red lips held his attention, until he forced himself to look away from them. He examined her face, like he was unable to place it.

When suddenly he realised that the woman kneeling in front of him — yelling at him — was his queen, he kicked the covers off himself, standing and whipping out a salute. She didn't know if she was surprised to find him in full uniform.

"Leave us," Clarke called to the rest of the men in their presence, not taking her eyes off of her assassin. The men made their exit in single file. Blake's gaze found the broken splinters of what had once been his door, and he extended his glare to the queen.

"At ease," Clarke allowed, but her voice was not kind. Blake let his salute fall. Arms behind his back, he watched as she made her way to sit at his desk. It was littered with papers, forms, schedules. She gestured to the bed he had been in moments earlier, her delicate fingers spread. "Sit."

He did, and it was only then that he realised how dizzy he had been standing. As his ruler began to address him, he tread his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it.

"I'm sure you're aware of the reason behind my visit, Blake, so let's just get to the point, yes?"

"My Queen." He nodded in her direction.

"You were scheduled to escort the royal tour this afternoon. Why weren't you there?"

"I lost track of time, Majesty."

"Did you?" There was silence as Clarke looked over his tired expression. "Because I was under the impression that you were overworking yourself."

"Yes, as I said—"

"No." Her interruption was harsh. She stood as her anger swelled, and moved from behind the desk to approach him. He stood as soon as she did, but she whipped her neck to send a glare his way. "Sit down, Blake."

He nodded hesitantly, and as she continued, he carried out her order. The steps she took towards him were slow, calculated, like she was hunting prey.

"You claim you lost track of time. You can't lose track if you were never paying attention in the first place. When was the last time you had a real full-night's rest, Blake?"

"I don't recall." He said this, despite fully knowing the true answer stood at about three months.

She came to a stop in front of him, arms crossed, jewels swinging at the harsh movement. "My point. Do you remember the vow you made to me on the day of my coronation?"

Blake bowed his head to his queen, remembering the day with ease. The halls had been dimly lit in remembrance of the king, but she had still managed to shine through it. He recalled being the first of the guard to kneel in her presence and honour her royal title. The words came back with ease.

 _"My Queen, I swear to you upon my very life, and the iron that I wield, to give you my fealty, and to pledge you my loyalty, to the name of the royal throne. And if ever I shall raise against you in rebellion, I ask that this iron pierce my heart. For this night and all the nights to come, now my service begins. Long live the Queen."_

Clarke nodded once, "Just checking that you haven't forgotten. And to disobey the direct order to maintain your health..."

She allowed the sentence to trail, looking him meaningly in the eye. He knew she would never have him executed, but she was still very capable of destroying his life and career.

"Highness," he nodded curtly.

The queen came to sit beside him, laying a careful touch on his arm. Beneath his shirt, she felt the layers of bandaging around his shoulder and tricep. She said nothing of it. "Now, I'll let this incident slide this time, because I'm well aware that you are human being, with basic human needs. Food, water, rest." She emphasised her point by raising an eyebrow at his current state. "You, on the other hand, apparently fail to comprehend this. You're not infallible, Blake, and as the head of security, I need you to be in peak health. That's why I am placing you on suspension this week."

Blake stood, taking a step towards her. "Majesty, your safety is my number one priority. As I pledged to you on the day of your ascension. I do not believe such a rash decision is necessary. In fact, as your head of security, I strongly advise against it."

Clarke did not waste time to think over his statements. "Well, I do believe in its necessity. Blake, I cannot be safe while you are unwell, thus prompting me to believe that this is, in fact, the best course of action. You must learn to take breaks. Do I make myself understood?"

"My Queen." He bowed his head in her direction, but his expression betrayed his stance on the matter. If Clarke noticed, she didn't say anything about it.

"Now, we do have to discuss that pool of blood, Blake. Don't think I missed that." The royal indicated to the mess by his bed, staining the wood of the castle's floor. The red was vibrant, fresh.

"Nothing to truly worry about. Simply an accident." He purposely failed to provide the details of the incident, which he knew would only extend his suspension. In truth, his wounds of the night before had been more extensive than he had originally thought, and his lack of attention towards them had only heightened their tendency to bleed.

"Very well." She turned, heading to the door. "I'll ask for some food to be sent up; some drink as well. And Blake?"

"Majesty?"

"For all your knowledge, you fail to recall my medical apprenticeship during my younger years. The physician will be joining you."

On her way out, Clarke could have sworn she saw a half of a smile grace his lips.

* * *

Night fell shortly after their encounter, but neither slept.

Contrary to what he had expected, the queen had sent down her personal physician, Eric Jackson. He had been expecting the court medic, a wiry and outdated old man.

Jackson was ruthless with his treatment, and Blake was subject to many hours of supervised bed rest. Contrary to the effect the physician was hoping for, the head of security spent his hours focusing in his mission to find the man who had made an attempt on the Queen Mother's life. Jackson was forced to watch as Blake poured over the castle's thousands of records, barely getting a wink of sleep.

The queen, on the opposite side of the castle, chose to tend to her father's old work. The nature of his death has left many strings untied, and Clarke often found herself tying them whenever she was in need of solace. So far she had paid off due debts, collected outstanding taxes, and allocated land. She found that taking up his study brought her peace of mind, as though they were somehow reunited.

The shocking news came to them in the deep hours of the night. Messengers sent by the Lord Chancellor Kane came knocking at both doors. While Clarke was simply ordered to remain in her chambers for the next few days, Blake was informed of a new death at court.

Bryan and Emerson escorted the queen to her quarters with drawn weapons, taking underground passageways to avoid exposure. Clarke, without a clue of the situation, remained silent. The paranoia she had experienced during her ride had returned, and she found herself unable to ask questions. When she was returns to the safety of her room, she found Gina, waiting, comprehending, mourning.

Lord Green had been found dead in his chambers only hours before.

Poisoned guards littered the hall around the chamber, and the coroner had placed the assault to have taken place at the time of the royal announcement. Blood stains tracked into the hall, staining the carpets. Servants were currently scrubbing away at the plush material with buckets of soap and water.

The blood formed a trail to where the intruder had left the knife; a window with a clear view of the courtyard outside. He had watched the royal vehicle drive away. Fine spared the queen the details, but hinted at the gruesome fact that the killer had left a letter of blood on the glass.

"' _I warned the king'_ ," Gina muttered after Clarke pestered her for the exact wording.

Close to losing her footing from lightheadedness, the queen was forced to slide to the ground. When Gina reached her, she was shaking and sobbing.

Clarke had known his son, Montgomery. The two had been close friends as children, as they had grown up together, but had grown apart as they grew older. The last time she had talked to him was after her twentieth birthday. All she could think of was how she would have to face him with the information of his father's death.

Gina held the young queen until she calmed, picking her up and readying her for bed, despite the fact that Clarke was in no way expecting to fall asleep anytime soon. She sank into her bed, closing her eyes as Gina began untying her hair. The sun was due to come up in a few minutes.

The growing number of murders at court were more inconvenient that worrisome. Clarke was well-aware of her security's boundaries, and believed the killer would be found in no time. Above it all, she was worried her noblemen, advisors, and guests may decide to retreat back to their own lands, where there was no threat to be made on the lives of themselves and their families.

Such travesties were horrific to bear in only the beginning of her reign. The killer had to be found, and soon, if her reputation and her nobles were meant to survive through the season.

Her blankets were hidden by the mass of files scattered around the bed. Clarke knew that if she had any chance in saving the lives of her court, she needed to know every single thing her father had done about the alliance with Lurrea.

She was not surprised when, as the sun was already high in the sky, a guard announced the presence of a visitor. "Sir Bellamy Blake to see the queen!"

She had been expecting him to visit her chambers much earlier.

"Gina bring me my silk robe— Let him in!" She called, and she heard the door open from behind her. A gust of cold air met her as she turned to face her guest.

Both had changed in the hours since their last meeting, and it occurred to them that they had never been exposed to one another outside of the boundaries of formality. They stood now, before each other, in simple night clothes, and it was as though their ranks were non existent.

Willing herself to rid her mind of such thoughts, she watched as Blake rose from his curt bow to face her. "I'm sure you know what this is about, Majesty—"

"Ma'am— my apologies, your robe?"

"Yes, Gina, do come in." Clarke eased into the robe, pulling it around her to hide her nightclothes from the man in her presence. "Gina, I'm sure you're aware, Sir Blake. Blake, my handmaiden, Gina Martin."

Blake offered a shallow bow to the lady, "A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Lady Martin."

"The pleasure is mine, Sir Blake."

Clarke glanced at her maid to find a hint of a blush on her cheeks. Gina's eyes darted to the queen, who tried to hide a smirk as she dismissed her. She watched as Blake's eyes followed her friend to the door, before finally settling back on her.

"Majesty—"

"The murder. Yes, I was informed."

"We need to discuss new security measures," he pressed.

"We do." Clarke shuffled the paperwork towards herself, making room for Blake in the opposite side of the bed. "Sit."

At first, he gingerly took a step towards her bed, because he knew with absolute certainty that regardless of the serious nature of their conversation, what he was doing was inappropriate.

She handed him a few files as he sat slowly. "This is all the documentation I have of my father's correspondence with Lurrea."

Blake glanced towards her out of the corner of his eye, hoping she was not asking him to do what he thought she was going to.

"I know my father confided in you solely. I need you to find me the real files."

 _Damn it._

"Right away, Majesty."

"Thank you. Now, what was it that you came here to share with me?" She settled into her pillows as she asked, trying to hide a yawn behind the sleeve of her robe.

He tried to stifle a sly look, throwing her own words back at her: "When was the last time you had a real full-night's rest, Majesty?"

She had to restrict herself to a warm smile. After all, it would be inappropriate for a queen to snort in front of one of her subjects.

Blake took a look at Clarke, who he had had the honour of watching mature from a child only months ago, to the queen she was now.

He had met her as a young princess, hiding under her mother's skirts. He never would have known it, looking at her her now, that she had been a shy child.

"Gwendoline, this is Bellamy. He's a new guard here." Jake had left the true nature of Blake's profession out of the introduction, eager to get the two acquainted. Blake had been the first subject at court who was close enough to her age for her to interact with. She held her hand out to him, and after a nod from the king, he had taken it and placed a tentative kiss onto it.

"Princess," he'd nodded.

The friendship Jake had hoped for never solidified.

As they talked over the incident — Clarke, with reddened eyes — Blake began to see through the charade. Maybe it was because she had been stripped of her finery, her jewels, her makeup. Maybe it was because here, in the safety of her walls, she wasn't forced to be such an elegant being. Nor eloquent. She wasn't forced to be a queen.

She was still only a girl. A tired, scared, lonely girl. She had been thrust into leadership too quickly, too harshly. She had advisors that were too accustomed to the old ways, and not enough support from those close to her.

He had watched her interactions with her mother over the months; both women had been estranged since the death of the king, only meeting for public or otherwise exceptional events. They never truly smiled to one another anymore; it was always a polite lie.

"Blake, are you listening to me?"

"Yes," he said, before catching the gleam in her eye and admitting, "No."

She shook her head lightly and smiled. He had seen her smile countless times, but for her to direct it towards him was foreign. "That's alright. It's very early. Where did you drown me out? I'll repeat."

"Hosting a ball, Your Majesty."

She nodded, "So not so long ago, that's a relief. Well, yes, I need to know your tactical opinion on inviting the people to the castle for an appreciative ball."

"To weed out the murderer."

"Exactly. I believe it's one of my people, as much as I'd hate to admit it. I know the trust you have in your guards, and I trust your insight on the matter. As for the remaining staff of the castle, I know my father personally attended every interview. You would know something about that."

Blake nodded. During the beginning of his time at the castle, he had tailed the king around the nation, learning his schedule, his duties, his enemies. He in turn had attended most of the servants' interview alongside Jake.

"I trust my castle. The only alternative is my people."

Blake nodded. It made the most sense.

"I can agree with the idea, My Queen. Allow me to carry out your plans."

Clarke shook her head, decidedly displeased. "No, Blake. As I told you, you're on a week's suspension. Let someone else take over. I'll allow you to look over the plans for flaws later on, but for now, your suspension resumes."

She knew that he was close to arguing as he inhaled sharply. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him shut his eyes in exasperation and exhale. "As you wish, Majesty."

"Alright, Blake. If there's nothing else, feel free to show yourself out." Clarke gestured towards the door. He caught the informality in her tone, noticing how she avoided dismissing him.

The curtains, though drawn, failed to keep out the shining yellow beam of the sun. The rays reflected off his face as he stood, bowed, and turned away. He was about to reach the door when she heard her voice again, this time muffled as she spoke into her pillow. "Oh, Blake, a moment."

He turned back to her, and her eyes didn't open as she pointed towards her handmaiden's door. "Knock on that room. Gina doesn't leave until I'm asleep — walk her to her room, please."

"My Queen," he bowed.

"I don't need any more dead friends."


End file.
